Forging the North
by IcarusColonius
Summary: A simple stronghold Orc sets out on what he believes to be a journey laid out to him by Malacath himself, and he prays to the Gods that it is, as his old home of Hamerok has shunned him away for focusing anywhere but on his tasks. His journeys lead him across the northern regions of Skyrim, but when he is pushed between the war-fronts, Govn will face many foes with many faces.
1. 1-

The clang of hammer on steel is all but home in my ears. Sparks fly and heat roars in the forge as days and nights pass underneath the glow of the moon against the glow of the coals, resting in the hearth. I barely go inside anymore, to the place I once called home; to me, the forge is my home, not a cube of wood with a door. My hands always ache after a long day in the firelight, yet I never stop until I am satisfied with all my creations. The isolation, being just outside the actual limits of the city of Dawnstar, gives me the peace I need to work without interruptions. The only issue with this lifestyle I've chosen is that I feel ever so limited by the steel I forge, feeling that this is the limit to my potential.

Bringing my face from the glow of the forge is difficult, but the rush of the night wind coming from the sea, drifting against my skin makes it all the more easier. It gently cools my face, and lets it solidify in the smile I always have after a long day at work. I turn to look towards the glow of the moon, instead, and see that it has risen almost to the top of the skies; I need to sleep, but there's so much work to be done. I need to keep up with my work and earn my keep, if I am to stay in Dawnstar for as long as I've been. Being an Orc in a Nordic colony doesn't exactly bode well.

Sweat beads against my eyes. This work is in my blood, as it has been for generations, and I don't plan to disappoint my ancestors by getting kicked out of a city I've worked so hard to get into. I doubt they'd actually be proud of me in general, for leaving my stronghold of Hamerok. It was a proud stronghold before I departed from it, yet I didn't have much of a choice; Malacath called me elsewhere, and I ended up here. "Until the rightful heir returns," he spoke, while I was in my slumber "seek out what makes all men burn. Work under the star that gave you first light; and focus on work that will aid you to fight".

At first I assumed he meant to just work anywhere under the sun, but that seemed vague. I'd ventured first through Morthal, but they'd practically kicked me right down the main road and out the other end. They'd been plagued with strange fires from what I'd heard, and I connected it with the first line of Malacath's little prophecy, but I couldn't seem to put my usefulness to the test; I continued my journey north, to Solitude.

When I'd arrived at the gates, they hadn't exactly welcomed me with open arms. I was first forced to dive off to the side of the main road, as the gates open to a man speeding along on horseback. I thought it abnormal, until he started being pursued by a hefty number of legionaries. It was after that ruckus subsided that I rushed towards the sound of screams and cries within the city. Everyone was running towards the palace, screaming and crying. I ran after them, catching a glimpse of a large number of guards – not as large as the ones perusing the man on horseback, but still large enough - running up the main watchtower to the gatehouse. It wasn't long after that I'd learned the man who fled was the same man who murdered the High King on that day; that man being Ulfric Stormcloak.

I'd heard of tensions between the Empire and the people of Skyrim during my travels. Could this be a ripple effect of this? I'd remained in the Winking Skeever for most of my time there, and helped out around Solitude where I could; first working where I could at the forge, making new armor for the apparent war that may or may not soon be brewing. Much passed in the days at working in the forge of Solitude; the potential war broke out all around the province of Skyrim, the wife of the late High King took the throne while a moot was being arranged, and an older looking fellow with general legion armor made his way to Castle Dour. He seemed to have taken interest as he passed by the forge on his way there, as he halted his regime and eyed me, making his way over to me.

"Are you the master of this forge?" He grunted to me, looking me up and down as he approached. I wasn't at all aware a large figure was making their way into town; I'd have washed my apron.

"No, my Lord; I am simply a civilian here in Solitude, offering my services to assist their people in their time of need." He kept his eyes on mine, and from time to time looks around at the rest of my facial appearance.

"You wear the clothes of a city forger, yet you have the presence of a stronghold Orc. Am I correct?"

I nod. "You're very observant, my Lord-" He stops me, holding his hand up.

"There's no need to refer to me that way. Just General Tullius is fine". I continue to nod, following what I'd been saying

"General Tullius. Well yes, I am from the Stronghold to the south, known as Hamerok. I was once the Forgemaster there." The General nods, smiling a bit.

Hamerok is a strong Orc Stronghold that sits on the borders of the Reach and Hjaalmarch. It is very well known for being the only stronghold to survive outside the shadow of any mountains or cliff sides, and is also known for its ruthless training and militarization. Any and all Orcs willing to fight and defend is fitted with the strongest of Orcish armours, and trained in the strongest of combat measures. There have been many unfit soldiers from other Skyrim strongholds sent to Hamerok to train that leave stronger than their own chieftains. It is also for this reason that Hamerok holds the strongest of the political power within the Stronghold system.

"What is your name?" He speaks with the heavy Cyrodillian accent he carries with him.

"Govn." The General smiles.

"Well Govn, You might be of use to me." The General speaks, "I've taken a look through all of Skyrim's list of resources, and the strongholds had me interested. If I remember correctly, Hamerok is where most of the power lies with the province's Orc settlements. If you could perhaps help me bring them in as allies, that would be very… convenient." I remember my reaction clear as day. I scrunched up my nose, and gave him a piercing look; as piercing as sea blue eyes can be.

"I doubt they would agree to side with the golden elves. The Thalmor and the Orcs of Skyrim don't exactly enjoy eachothers company". The General nods, and moves slightly closer to me, locking my eyes with his, as if we were in combat.

"It is in your best interest that you form this alliance. Come see me later on, and we'll discuss it further." He turned, and moved back to his squadron of guards, and continued to move to Castle Dour. It never felt right the entire rest of the day, while I was forging the steel blades that I knew would soon be cutting down the local Nords.

 _How many of these blades will cut down my kin if I don't follow through?_ I thought, looming above the heat of the forge. I couldn't do it. That night, I packed my things and ran. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't care if Malacath shunned me for what I was doing, but I had to run. Run. Run.

And run I did, right into Dawnstar.

My memories of the past mean nothing to me now, so why do I continue to dwell on them? I'd like to know, yet I can never answer that question; I just continue to dive back in and wonder, _what is so important?_ Nonetheless, as I looked down to the handiwork that my daydreaming had caused me to make, I'd began to realize a sword isn't suppose to be bent that way.

"Curses," I mumbled. Work like this wasn't going to keep me friendly with these Nords, especially not if they decided to look at more of my past. People around Dawnstar especially don't take kindly to Imperial sympathisers, not that I'm much of one. I doubt they would see it that way, though; not every traveller arriving in the Pale gets offered an alliance from an Imperial General.

I turned from the forge, dropping the crippled blade off to the side; I'd reforge it properly later. It was near the time I needed to check to see if my quota was filled. 30 Steel swords and Greatswords, tuned and sharpened finely, 20 Iron Shields, beaten to wear them out and test them for their strength. 20 carved out hunting bows, with extra iron around the limbs for support, unstrung. I'd all but doubled the quota for the weaponry, and I'd have gladly done the guards' armor as well, but that wasn't exactly my kind of work. It wasn't too long after that Forlin arrived in his horse drawn cart, smiling under his scaled helmet; a signature look for the finest archer in the hold.

"G'day Govn!" he yelled, almost jollily, "I assume you've been up all night? You look sickly". I nod. His long dirty blonde beard hangs down from his helmet, concealing his neck. He wears garments that symbolize his guardianship of Dawnstar, and around his neck, peeking out just under the end of his facial hair, is an amulet of Talos.

I nod at him. "It's been a long and hard night, but here's what you asked, and then some. As per usual". Forlin smirks at me, and leaps down from his now halted cart. He makes his way over to me, and we shake hands with a firm grip. We speak like old friends while we load the cart.

"Not been here two weeks and you've attracted the attention of Jarl Skald. He sent me with a message, a summons rather. He wants to meet our beloved new forger." My eyes lift to Forlin's figure, as I toss an armful of greatswords onto the wagon and into his arms.

"So sudden? I'll need to grab a few things if I'm to venture into the city overnight." I'd mull this over in my head, rearing back when I pull up a hefty handful of shields. When I lift them into Forlin's arms, he shakes his head.

"No no no, you'll be back before nightfall. I'll let you sleep on the way there, not to worry!" I nod, as I toss him the last of the swords and bows. When he leaps down, he lifts the backend and ties it into place. I smile at him, my tusks showing alarmingly, and he smirks back, knowing I am now agreeing.

"Well, let's get going!" he yells into the morning air.

When we arrive in the city of Dawnstar, it is everything I remember when I arrived. Forlin was actually the first to "greet" me when I'd arrived, with a bow in his hands and an arrow strung back, aimed towards me. Two other guards with swords drawn approached me on either side, while he spoke.

"Who approaches the city of Dawnstar, in times such as this?" he blurts out. I'd known that the cities were practically in lockdown, since the murder of the High King. The only ones that remained that way now were those who supported who I believed to be a tyrant, due to him causing an uproar of rebellion.

"You must be standing with Ulfric, if you're so quickly accusing non-Nordic folk. I simply come seeking refuge from the empire, along with work." It wasn't entirely a lie. Though I haven't really chosen a side (assuming I ever will), I was fleeing from a potentially psychopathic general and his hoards of imperial soldiers, who are no doubt on the footsteps of my old home now. I would have no place there, so I had to come somewhere safer; but then I arrived here.

"I.. uh…" He hesitates, locking eyes with me. After a few moments of tension and silence, he lets the bowstring rest and removes the arrow from his fingers, back into it's quiver. The soldiers on either side of me follow suit, and sheathe their weapons. I nodded to Forlin, smiling and making my way through the path that lead into Dawnstar.

Now I stand in it yet again, and nothing has changed, with the exception of security being a little more relaxed. The fisherman boats fill the port that the townsfolk surround. Dawnstar sits on the coast of Skyrim like a giant horseshoe around the port. Across the port either hill resides the mines that supply me with the ore I need to continue my labors; ore I assume I'll be collecting today.

The main strip of the city sits across from the sea, at the toe of the horseshoe surrounding the harbor. Near the middle, at the top of the hill sits the Jarls Longhouse; our destination. Forlin takes the right as we enter Dawnstar from the south-western entrance, that leads us down the main road to the Longhouse, but something is wrong. I glance around as our carriage bumps along the stone pathways, and the main road doesn't appear as busy as it normally should be. There are people down by the harbor, seeing as nobody can really stop the hustle and bustle of our fisheries or our mines, and a few glance up towards the carriage, grimacing slightly.

I turn away from them, trying to settle myself. _People know this carriage carries weapons; nobody wants a war sparking in this town, with the Imperials' navy._ I keep telling myself that. I always get worked up over silly things such as this, over thinking at every little thing that happens ever since I left Hamerok. It was early morning, so only people are either still asleep or at work in the mines, that's all.

When we pull up to rest our carriage beside the White Hall, the Jarl and his housecarl, Jod, are already waiting for us. The old Jarl looks to me with a soft smile, as if he had never gone through the Great War, or so I was told he has been. As I dismount from the carriage, Forlin comes around and watches as I greet the Jarl, shaking his hand. Skald speaks first.

"So, this is the famous Orc blacksmith, who took up a home on the outside of my hold," he says cheerfully, "I've seen your metalworks, and they're quite impressive."

"Well, thank you kindly my Jarl," I say, "it's been an honor assisting you in your times of need."

"Yes, well," he goes on, "I wish I could speak to you further about this, but I you to help me address something that requires your attention." As he speaks, we all step inside. I look around to see what appears to be his court wizard, and a stormcloak commander, wearing steel plated armor covered in bear pelt. They stand in what would be a semi-circle, had their been two people between them.

"Would you need me to sharpen your blade for you?" I ask Jarl Skald "Tone up your armors?" The Jarls turns to me, stone faced.

"If only it were that simple for you, Govn." At that instant, I hear the door creak closed and lock, along with an angry looking housecarl pull his blade and walk me into the newly formed semi-circle. Skald moves past me, and stands at attention in between his court wizard and his stormcloak general. They all give me piercing looks. I hear the housecarl shuffle behind me, and an instant later I feel the back of my knees burn and buckle. I fall to the floor, and kneel to the Jarl of Dawnstar. Skald holds out his left hand, and the general hands him a piece of folded parchment, which Skald throws down to me.

"That was intercepted late last night from a courier who entered the city, looking for you." The Jarl says deeply, "Guess who it's from?" I wonder. I take the liberty of unfolding the letter, and reading through it's finely written contents. At the bottom is an Imperial seal. It reads:

 ** _Govn the Orc,_**

 ** _I still wonder to this day why you left the cozy walls of Solitude, I thought perhaps it was to speak to your kin about the alliance between the Empire and the Hamerok Orcs. I still await a response from you, but I have no doubt it will arrive soon, seeing as the close ties you possess with the Empire wouldn't be so easily torn._**

 ** _I await your letter._**

 ** _Sincerely, General Tullius_**

 _No_. My eyes rise to the Jarl after I finish reading, and that's all I can think. I have to plead; it's my only escape.

"My Jarl, I-"

"No!" he cuts me off, with a swipe of his hand. His face is red with anger and embarrassment, most likely because he allowed an outsider to grow so close to his day-to-day operations, "we've already decided your fate, the block! Tonight will be the last night you'll see the night sky, and until then you will be disposed off properly." I see him wave his hand, and before I can tell what he means, I feel a sharp stinging against the back of my neck from an impact. My vision goes blurry.

And everything goes dark.


	2. 2-

Waking up to face iron bars isn't exactly what I want to see on a vacation away from home. Neither were the hours I spent asleep, hosting for Malacath as the one guest in my dreams. I was always told that dreams are haywire in Dawnstar at times like these, but when being visited by a daedric prince with a grudge, that's it's own terror. His appearance in its own vision was dark and bleak, but I could make out the outline of his great blade slung over his shoulder, and his horns emerging from his head.

"Govn," he spoke sharply, as if to accuse, "you've been causing quite a stir in the forces of the rebels; it's quite amusing to watch." I smirk at him, and I attempt to speak before he cuts me off.

"However," he continues, "your attempt at a verbal way out of the Jarl's grip was a bit dishonorable, as was your fleeing from the Imperial General." I tense.

"Lord Malacath," I start, "I would never cross you in battle, and it was my understanding that you simply wanted me to work until you said otherwise; I needed a place to work, so I had to keep friendly wi-"

"No excuses!" he snaps back at me, "You're on the right path Govn, but you cannot keep delaying. This war has begun and you're aiding the side that will end with the destruction of the Orsimer of Skyrim - I won't allow that!" My vision blurs and shifts, and I feel myself beginning to wake.

"Listen," Malacath begins, "you must return to Solitude hastily. On your way there, you'll find many useful allies in unexpected places-" Malacath's voice breaks, and light comes from two small openings near the shadow of his head; his eyes.

" _When Hope is gone, and all is lost, your strength will surge, but beware the cost"._ At that line, my vision breaks, to the delightful glimmer of light shining from the bars, and a grimacing Nord face between then, with a shaggy blonde beard and a bow slung on his back.

My hands react before my head. I grab the collar of his guard uniform, and drag him into the bars with such force that I felt the sleeves on my arms tear slightly. Forlin grunts hard when his face hits the bars, and flinches even more when I begin to growl at him. The firelight from the torches illuminates the bright red marks, that begin to form around the spots where his face connected with the iron.

"

Why are you here?!" I grunt at him, "You pathetic excuse for a Nord!" I throw him back, and he staggers, nearly stumbling. He catches himself, and sterns up to face me. His eyes meet mine with a look of seriousness, and for a moment I believe he's here to kill me.

"I'm here to tell you what will happen, in hopes you can come up with a way out," he says, quietly enough the guards upstairs who can be heard singing and slugging mead down their throats won't hear, "in less than two hours you'll be brought to the chopping block. I can't do anything for you but warn you; I'm sorry to say." He looks tired, with bags under his eyes and his shoulders slumping down. The news is no shock to me, nothing less comes to those who are suspected of conspiring with the empire. The only shock is that Forlin is actually here, supplying me with information that, though I can't do anything about it, could put him in the same place I'm in.

I straighten up, keeping my eyes on his hands, that are gripped around a satchel he carries at his side. It's a casual brown leather satchel, but it appears bulged and full. My eyes move away from it, directly to him.

"You think I didn't know that?" I growl at him, "Why come here with the intent to betray your Jarl for someone who's believed to be a spy?" This question seems to take him back, but he keeps his tone aloft.

"Because I see what the laws of the Stormcloaks mean, and it holds everything but diversity." Forlin steps closer to the bars, "I've seen Nords of this city, and others surrounding the Stormcloak territories show their true colors and fly flags for the Imperials, but nothing is done to them." He pauses, "But when it's a Dark Elf or an Argonian who openly supports the Empire, they're executed. I've had friends who returned with me from the war who simply spoke their opinion about this civil war, and they were executed on the spot for treason. I won't let that happen to another friend." His words take me by the greatest of surprise. This man has barely known me for a month, and yet he calls me friend?

S

trangely enough, it made me smile. I haven't had much of a family since I left Hamerok, and hearing a Nord - one who is suppose to be my enemy - call me a friend, warmed me slightly. It is true that I enjoyed the time I'd spent joking with Forlin and learning much from him in my time here, but now we could no longer call each other that in the open. He was my enemy, I had to act like it, or else we'd both get killed. He seemed to pick up on this, because he smiles as well, laughs even. And I join him in his laughter. Finally, he stops.

"It's all so strange," he starts, "I agree with the cause and all, but this fight for freedom seems more forced than anything. Nobody in the local Empire wants this agreement with the High Elves, so why are we fighting them about it?" I nod to him in agreement.

"Everyone's just so prideful about this entire thing. Working against each other is just what the elves want - we're weakening ourselves". Forlin nods, and goes to answer before the door opens and voices stream downstairs.

"Forlin," a groggy drunken voice echos down the steps, "stops toying with the lowlifes and come join us!" Forlin turns, and gives me a subtle nod that I return without hesitation, and before I can blink he is gone, trotting up the wooden steps without missing a beat.

I begin to wonder exactly how this all came to be. I was tasked with this quest by Lord Malacath himself, and yet I find trouble with every turn I make, as if being tested by Malacath. I let myself get captured by these Nord brats; would my Lord be proud of me for not fighting back and attempting to run and cut down anyone who got in my way? I feel I've grown soft since leaving the stronghold.

"You've got some very interesting friends" speaks a feminine voice. I'm standing before I realize what I've heard, and my head is glancing around the area, finally taking in all it's detail. Across from me is the stairwell that leads to where the guards are drinking mead, beside the archway leading up the stairs is an empty guards' chair. On either side of the stairwell, I can make out more cells, before the walls of my own cell cut them off from my view. The cell on my left is empty, but on my right sits a dark skinned woman in rags that match that of my own. She leans drearily against the corner, between the edge of the bars and the wall. Her hands are bound tightly, and there appears to be a magic seal all around her bonds; she must be a mage. I straighten my body up while I examine her.

"I'd hardly call him a friend," I begin to speak, "but his heart's in the right place". She nods, as if taking this in. She doesn't look like she should be more than thirty, but her facial features and a clear sense of dread and exhaustion make her seem almost fifty.

"Doesn't matter," she says, "either way he's participating in sending you to an early grave." I look at her almost alarmed. She's right; though he took the time to warn me, yet he'll casually sit by should I die. I can't think of a proper response to this, but she seems to speak before I can.

"I'm Aelia."

"Govn," I reply, "Forgemaster of Hamerok; or so I was." The title pours from my lips like it's a second instinct to just repeat them. For years, I carried the name that was heavier in value than the steel I worked with. Now, that title means nothing to me, because I've all but abandoned it, pursuing a quest those at Hamerok believed to be a fool's errand.

 _Are they wise?_ I can't help but think it; here I am following Malacath's pleas, and it drives me into a holding cell one of the most frigid ports in Skyrim. If the Daedric Prince really wanted this task fulfilled, why would he lead me down a path that ends with death by an axe? My eyes fall from their faraway gaze, and back onto Aelia.

"Why are you here?" I ask; she smirks at me.

"Because some guards threw me in here." Aelia speaks sharply.

"I meant what gave them cause to put you here?" My tone is fierce, and apparently she see's this, because she resides to giving me her entire life story.

Great.

This was the case, however, until the guards swept through the doorway like a snowy breeze, their heels clopping against the wooden steps that descended into the musty hallway of cells. Two of them made a left at the bottom step, and stopped at Aelia's cell, keys jingling in the first guards' hands. The other pair of guards motioned forward, towards my cell, and inserted the key into the lock as fast as a sword through a man. The other guard slipped his axe from his belt and held it firmly as he glanced lazily at me through the staves of iron.

"Stay back, prisoner." he grunted at me. He didn't appear to have much patience in his tone, or his stance. Perhaps his duty was about fulfilled for the day and I was his last task to deal with. When they had my cell unlocked, and let the iron door creak open, I stepped forward and came to stand between the two guards who came to take me, as the other two were dragging Aelia around the corner. She was putting up quite the struggle, yelling a few choice words and kicking her feet at the guards, who appeared to be struggling to carry her.

"You're suppose to be able to cut down men with ease, yet you can't carry a petite necromancer?" I spoke with ease. The guards turned, and the one beside me with the glimmering steel axe held it to my throat.

"Watch your tone!" He spit these words at my face, but all I could do was smile. I swung my hand up in an arc, and grappled onto his wrist. When I twisted it and watched his hand begin to weaken, I swept the weapon from his hand and used my body to turn towards the guard with the shackles. When I swung at him, he stepped back towards the wall and drew sword. I noticed the guards handling Aelia beginning to move closer, but the voice behind me spoke.

"Take her up, we'll handle the Orc!"

"Aye, sir!" spoke the other guard, before dragging the now screaming necromancer up the stairs. It was only when she started screaming that I noticed they also gagged her. Perhaps she had a tendency to cause an uproar whenever she was touched. I moved my focus back onto the guard in front of me, pale and focused on me and my new weapon. My grip tightened around the fraying leathery hilt of the axe, my bulky hands barely fitting around the thin piece of steel where my palm is suppose to rest.

"You really think this is your best choice?" I grumbled fiercely. I didn't have time for two measly guards, thinking they would have time to both take me down and wrap my wrists in shackles. This guard in front of me barely appeared to be the proper age of a man, and his shaking limbs solidified my point. He sheepishly raised his sword above his head and began to step forward. I quickly grabbed for his sword-arm's wrist, and slammed it back against the wall, pushing him further against the wooden planks that blocked back the dirt of the basement. When I did, his hand wavered, and his blade slipped from his hands and to the floor.

"Fool!" screamed the guard behind me, as I heard his boot slap against the cobblestone ground. I gripped the wrist of the younger guard harder, and sidestepped as I threw him towards the lunging guardsman, and watched as they slammed into each other. When they tumbled over each other, I kneeled down to grab the shining imperial blade, and stood back up just as the men were getting their bearings. I shook my head as I watched them roll around, trying to move away from each other and stand. Once they finally did, I held the sword in my left hand upward, pointed directly at them both and moved to stand in the doorway.

"Keys, now. And get in my lovely cell." I uttered without the slightest hesitation. The older guard began to speak, but I swung my right arm forward, and flipped my axe around in my hand, hitting on the top of his helmet with the blunt end of the axe. He crumpled fast, as I watched his iron cap rattle around his head. his limp body spread across the floor, and his eyes rolled lazily in the back of his head. Strangely enough, he didn't appear much different to me, conscious or not. I turned to the other guard, with a stiff expression on my face.

"Do you want to be so foolish?" I grumbled.

"N-N-No-NO!" He stuttered and yelled as if his life depended on it. I didn't care enough to threaten his life just to make sure he didn't say anything.

"Then stop wasting my time and get in the cell!" I yelled back, annoyed about the dramatic rise in his voice. He quickly handed me the keys and ran into the cell, as I slammed the iron bars shut behind him. Once I'd done that, I took the components of armor from the unconscious guard that suited me. It wasn't much; fur braces and boots, along with a hide helmet, but it would do. The guard's cuirass looked as if it wouldn't even come close to fit me, so I didn't bother to even try. The gauntlets were a tight enough squeeze. When I was finished, I took one last look at the cowering guard who now took shelter in the cell he tried to drag me from.

"I'm sorry, really, but I refuse to die an innocent man." I mumbled, not letting my expression waver. I was angry; not at Jarl Skald, or at General Tullius. I was angry with the people of Hamerok. The Orc Strongholds duties were to uphold the word of Malacath himself, and around the time of exile, I appeared to be one of the few left who could uphold that word. It was for this reason, when I had had my dreams, I departed without hesitation. Just as I would leave Dawnstar, without hesitation.

So I turned towards the stairs, towards the shabby wooden doorway that I walked up the creaky steps towards. I only faltered for a moment, stopping halfway up the steps when I caught a wiff of a familiar scent. One I only remembered from the hours of spending over the forge.

"Fire." I mumbled, before I took off up the stairs and shoved the door open with my left shoulder. The main floor of the barracks was scorched in places, and the chairs off towards my right were still burning ominously. The door to the barracks was swung open, and hanging from it's bottom hinge. As I stood there, I could see guards running past with weapons drawn, and in the distance I could hear the screams of women and the cry of commands echoing through the morning air. Who - no, what could have done this?

I decided to slip my axe back into my belt, not having a scabbard for the blade I took from the younger guard, making it my optimal weapon.I ran towards the door and turned left, the direction of where the guards were running towards. What I saw surprised me more than the letter from the imperial general; just past the inn, at the fork in the road before entering Dawnstar, surrounded by what seemed to be the entire guard, was Aelia. Flames burned brightly in one hand, and a dagger appeared in the other. A few of the guards surrounding her were singed, but the most appealing sight was the circle of scorched snow surrounding her, that the guards didn't appear to want to cross.

I began my approach, watching as the guards hesitated to step over the circle of embers, and as the fear on Aelia's face only grew deeper. I was at the inn when one of the guards got a bit suicidal, and charged head-first towards the necromancer, his battleaxe ready to sweep at whatever was close enough. When I saw Aelia duck and roll off towards the side, I began to run towards them. I knew it wouldn't be long before the rest of the battalion got just as bold.

Once I'd gotten close enough, the guards were just starting to notice my presence, and three of them turned on me. I took a quick analysis of the situation. Three guards turned to me, the one with the battleaxe was giving Aelia enough to worry about, and four other guards were just lounging and watching whatever fight seemed to please them. The guards who stood before me were not at all familiar to me, except for the one to my left, with a jet black beard that could have easily been his hair migrating south for the winter. He was one of the guards for the Iron-Breaker mine, who I generally checked in with when I came to pick up my iron ore for forging my steel. He didn't appear to have his normal friendly smile on today, and I highly doubt he was willing to give me another shipment.

"Surrender Govn, we won't let you slip away!" the Iron-Breaker guard spoke roughly. He had a few burning embers on his braces, undoubtedly from my friend Aelia and her flaming palm. When I glanced over to her again, the man with the battleaxe was down and coughing hard. The sight of this got a bit more gruesome when Aelia came down on the bent over guard with a dagger through the back of his neck, and forced him to crumble to the ground in a pool of blood that began to form around him. Another guard moved in, making three lollygaggers still watching and enjoying themselves, though some didn't seem as happy as they did when their friend was still breathing.

One guard that was facing me swung his blade as me, and I easily sidestepped and grabbed the hand that held his blade. When he came up beside me, I brought my leg up and kicked his exposed ribs, and heard a loud crack and felt the vibration from his arm as it broke. When I watched his sword fall from his hand, I released his wrist and fully extended my leg, to push him down to the ground beside me. I turned back to the Iron-Breaker guard, shaking my head.

"Shouldn't you be training these pups better? I'm not impressed." I said, ferocity in my voice. I needed to get out of here, more importantly I needed to go help Aelia, who was now facing a lanky guard with an pathetic looking iron axe. Only bad part about it was that he seemed to know how to use it. Aelia had exposed gashes across her chest and she was panting, trying to move away from every swing. The guard wasn't completely superior though, for every time Aelia stepped away, she made an effort to bathe him in flames.

The Iron-Breaker guard moved in front of the guard in the middle, and he drew his battleaxe and held it to his side. He turned his head to glance behind him.

"Join your brothers and enjoy the show. This Orc won't last five minutes." he smirked before turning back and locking eyes with me. I knelt down quickly to my right, and scooped up the shield of the guard who was groaning on the ground. To my disadvantage, as I grabbed his shield, the guard on the ground kicked me away and sent me on my back, just as the Iron-Breaker guard stepped forward and plunged his axe down towards my head.

I held my shield up fast, though my hand wasn't in the grip, but I wouldn't have had time. I held it by the side of it, farthest away from his strike, and when it connected, it knocked the shield from my hand, and I watched his axe plunge into the ground. Nearly half of his axe head disappeared into the frozen dirt that lay beside my head. I gripped my shield quickly, and rolled backwards onto one knee. By the time his axe was firmly ripped from the soil, I was standing again, shield firmly wrapped around my arm.

"You have an impressive swing." I uttered, smiling to him, finally excited to have a challenge. I glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Aelia had gained a more tactical advantage. She had lost her dagger, but in turn was using her necromancer to summon up a couple skeletons to fight at her side. One had taken the battleaxe from the fallen body and was facing one of the guards, and the other appeared to have killed the second guard with the iron axe, and was facing the other three with Aelia at it's side.

When my vision of that battle blurred and came to focus on Iron-Breaker, I'd taken to calling him, he was fearlessly moving forward. He swung brutally at my sword side, and I brought my shield up to block his blow. When the blow connected, the shield cracked and the steel went through the wooden component of it, shattering it and leaving the iron frame that was virtually useless. The only useful part about it was that it stopped the axe from continuing through and hitting my forearm. I tossed the frame down to the ground, letting it fall with the cracked wooden symbol of Dawnstar that it once held. I was in trouble, and there was nothing I could do about it. He brought his axe back down towards me again, this time on the opposite side. I brought my sword up to block it, and though it worked, the momentum of the blow shook me and knocked me back. To stop myself from falling, I simply kneeled. The fighting had caused me to grow tired, and without the proper gear I was useless. I thought it all over when he loomed over me, with weapon held high and aimed at the top of my skull. It was only when an arrow whistled overhead and pierced his right eye that I realized, maybe the Gods were watching over me.

That, or Forlin was just a really nice guy.

He slid down to one knee as he ran past me, and grabbed the arrow firmly. He tore it from the socket of the dead guard, and looked me hard in the eye. It was as if I understood immediately, because I shoved him away and took off, dropping my sword and grabbing the battleaxe of the fallen guard. The fighting appeared even on Aelia's end, One guard had fallen, as did the lone skeleton she had summoned. The one who was fighting alongside her had lost half an arm, but still seemed ready to fight for a few more moments. It was her and her conjuration against three guards, and no doubt a newly arrived Forlin, who was trying to keep his own hide out of danger from his own kin.

One of the guards facing Aelia turned as he heard my boots crunching against the snow beneath my feet, but he reacted fairly late when my battleaxe met his chest, and sent his limp body into the guard beside him. An arrow whistled past my head and into the skeleton residing beside Aelia, and I watched it crumble. When I saw the third guard turn to see what had happened to his companions, I knew I had little time before more guards arrived. I could already hear them rushing from down by the water.

"Run!" I screamed at Aelia, as I brought my battleaxe back to its resting place at my side. She understood immediately, and turned to run alongside me. Arrows continued to whistle past my head, and the few guards that were joined with reinforcements continued their pursuit after us. Arrow after arrow flew past my vision, and one actually caught me in the cheek. I felt the warm syrup-like blood drip down my face and onto my shoulder.

After what felt like hours of running, Aelia and I dove into an overhang that couldn't have been a mile away from the northern oceans. It appeared to have once been home to a frost troll, with a few bones and blood stains lying around the ground. The frost troll skull with a flower laying beside it was a bit odd, but I didn't question it; I was too tired. I leaned my back against the back of the overhang, and let my body slip down it to sit. I laid my head back against the cold stone wall.

"That was too damn close, if you ask me" Aelia spoke. She had moved to sit near me, and was treating her wounds with restoration magic. Her wounds, to my surprise, were healing quite quickly under her spells. Eventually, when she was finished, she'd moved closer and done the same to my cheek. The warmth of her spell was almost similar to the warmth of the coals in my forge, but none of that mattered now.

"We're lucky that the archer they had wasn't all that good; he missed nearly every shot" she spoke with no effort in her voice. She was exhausted, but what she had said gave me enough energy to laugh a bit. I looked at her, as she furrowed her brows at me for an explanation to my humor. I simply continued to smile as I watched her grow more and more confused.

"Forlin never misses." I say.


End file.
